untitled
by Stuntz-The-Dude
Summary: My account of my last show freshman year. Very, very short. Writen for my Creative writing class last year.


A/N:This is my account of two years ago. My story of my last repitition of the best show I think i will ever do. The year i found my best friends. Well, let me not get away from you. Please review...

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Slowly, you walk foreword, stepping in time with the uniformly clad person in front of you, who is stepping in time with the person in front of them. Your pulse of your blood pumping coolly in your veins and the pulse of your feet hitting the Astroturf are set by the gock block that Mr. Hamilton is clicking at, his face stern and proud. Left, right, left. The block pierces your ears, uncovered by your red brown hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of your head. The visor over your eyes may be for keeping you from seeing the crowd and the stands, but it fails. Your eyes are drawn up and up to even more people. Row after row. Tiny flashes of professional and personal cameras fill your vision like glitter flying through the crowd. You can see the band moms and dads sitting together in a blur of sky blue shirts and neon orange hats. You can't help but smile. Softly, though screamed by one of the dads, _One! Two! Three!_

"Nail that puppy!"

This is the moment here, the one November evening at seven P.M. in Indianapolis, Indiana, that you have been training for since the twelve hour practice days of band camp in July. Stacy's always told you that. Hamilton's always kept you prepared for this. All you've worked on for so hard is for right now. Now and only now. For less than six minutes, you have to be flawless.

You warm up, watching Lisa and Jeff, back to back. In front of you. Lisa directly towards the woodwinds, Jeff towards the brass in the arch of instruments. The pit are fading softly behind you at the front of the field of the dome. Look closer and you notice something. Lisa's chin is trembling.

Mr. Stacy walks up in front of everybody. "Band tein hut!"

"HUT!"

Stacy took a slow breath. "Let's get this over with. Move out!"

You lock eyes with Mandy next to you and the two of you hug. "Good luck," you say in unison kissing each other on the cheek, standing in a moment of reverence. You see a flash of sunlight months ago. Smell the sunscreen and the sweat. It is only a moment that you can see yourself laying down on the grass, pouring icy water down Mandy's shirt and promptly being glomped on as her counter attack. She smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to your respective set zeros. You remember how you stood there, trying to figure out what "6,5 off 25, 3.5 front hash" meant. Holding your instrument at attention, you wait. Lisa raises her hands to start. She breathes, a sad smile wiping over her face. _Five, six. Five, six,_ Oo, ah…

Play out.. Breathe deep. Step in time. Dress right. Dress left. Cover down. Roll your feet. Shoulders back. Chin up. Watch Lisa. Watch Jeff. Forget the pit. Don't be nervous. Rotate your hips. Lift when you turn. No smiling, you're in marching band! Place, change. Stay in time! Don't smile. Off your heels. Now stop! Breathe…and go!

So you go on and on. You feel the beat and music. Lisa's hands don't only direct your tempo and movements; they give you your pulse. As you step on, you feel the rumble of the tubas behind you. A few more paces and a flute pierces your ear. You hear a trumpet loosing his breath. A guard girl is counting just under the music. Her face is red and slick with sweat. But then you stop. Push in, lean black. No, don't blast your last note, perfectly in tune, mind you. Then everyone starts screaming and yelling. This isn't the crowd that you hear, no. This is you. You being the band, as "there are no individuals in marching band!" You all are yelling and screaming. Everyone is smiling, faces red and hot, skin is shimmering with sweat, their entire being is aflame. Herb is gasping, but laughing. Lisa's smiling, rubbing her sore, white gloved arms, liquid trailing down her face. You look closer and notice that it isn't a nervous sweat trailing down her face. Those are tears of both sadness and joy.

As the crowd gets louder and you get quieter, you realize something. This was it. This was the game. You can feel your feet taking you with the rest of the band. As soon as you leave the stadium, your hat comes off and you give your black plume to Mrs. Hanak. Everyone, all one hundred twenty some of you, the guard, band, some pit, directors (not including parents) are laughing and talking about how good you were. Turning, you see Miss B. and her fiancé. Mr. Stacy's congratulating a flute, her sweaty blond hair tied into a sweaty blond knot on her head. Emo Phil is talking to Doug. Mr. Talbot is standing silently, looking over his clip board. Mike D. and some of the pit are there, pushing their equipment. A Rodie drives by on the trailer, helping lay an unconscious Lauren on it and giving Mandy a water bottle. Mandy. Your best friend looks at you with a tired smile, taking off her coat and wadding it up for a pillow for Lauren, quickly stopped by Mrs. Malone. The band mom folds it neatly and places it under Laurens' head. Then you realize why Lisa was crying, just like Angie is trying to hide. Lindsay is trying to cover her tears in sweat. John is laughing like nothing happened, and Mike is rubbing Holly's shoulders. This was their last performance, the seniors. Ever.

Now you smile, feeling your coat unzipped from behind you and familiar arms wrapping around your waist. Taylor kisses your throbbing, pink cheek and pushes a knot of your sweaty hair behind your ear. You all look up as Stacy whistles.

"Everybody! Back to the busses! Let's get back to the hotels and have a party!" You hear several cheers around you, but those quickly fade into background noise. You look around at the three people that your care about the most. Mandy's drinking from her water bottle. Tim had appeared from nowhere, putting the cap on the mouthpiece of his bass clarinet and smiling at you. Taylor pulls out the pony tail and his blond hair falls into a mess over his face. He smiles and squeezes your cheek, laughing at your pouting expression. But then you grin.

Another band is playing, and their distant battery gives you a beat, like Lisa, Jeff, Stacy, and Angie did for you. The beat thuds distantly through your chest and your heart changes its tempo to the nice march played behind you. You link arms with Mandy, marking time.

"Shall we?" Mandy asks, holding her head high. You smile again.

"We shall."

-**_The End_**-


End file.
